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“The wheelhouse,” I answer. “This is where Art steers the yacht.”
She looks over the array of controls and blinking lights, clearly not understanding why I brought her here, of all places. “And where is Art?”
“Sleeping, probably. Since we’re anchored for the night. This is what I wanted to show you.” I step forward and touch the largest screen in the center of the control panel. I press a few buttons, pulling up a map of our location, then zoom out enough for Sadie to recognize the land masses directly west of us.
I point at the screen. “This is where we are,” I say simply. I slide my finger to the right. “This is?—”
“Florida,” she says, finishing my sentence. “And what’s this one? Directly in front of us?”
“That’s the Bahamas,” I say, though it’s still hundreds of miles away.
“Is that where we’re going?” she asks.
“We aren’t reallygoinganywhere,” I say. “We’re cruising slowly, doing our best to avoid the most popular cruise ship routes. But if you’re ever curious, you’re always welcome to come up and look. You’re entitled to know where you are.”
It isn’t much. It isn’t her phone or a way to communicate with her sisters or any of the answers I can’t give her because I don’t have them. But it’s something.
She nods and gives me a small smile. “Thanks. That actually helps.”
“I’m glad. And Sadie?” I pause until her gaze is fixed on mine. “If you want to clear up the whole girlfriend thing with German, or if you want me to, that’s fine. Just let me know. The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable.”
A smirk I’m beginning to recognize returns to Sadie’s face. “Why, Mr. King, are you fake breaking up with me?”
“I would never.”
She hums. I wait for her to say more about it, perhaps to clarify where we stand, but instead, she asks, “Then are you saying you’re sorry for kidnapping me?”
I grin. “Do youwantme to be sorry?”
She doesn’t answer, turning to the control panels and running careful fingers over the gleaming controls. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch Sadie explore the wheelhouse, her face open with curiosity. And all I can think is that I’d do it all over again tomorrow if it meant we ended up right here.
TEN
Sadie
There’ssomething hypnotic about staring at the sea. All the tiny waves, shifting constantly, white peaks appearing and disappearing, the water broken up by the occasional leaping fish or diving bird. It’s almost enough to make me forget the twitch in my hand whenever I reach for my nonexistent phone. Or forget the ridiculousness of my current situation.
The breeze lifts my hair, and I squeeze my eyes closed, inhaling the salty air. There really is something magical about the vastness of the ocean—not to mention enjoying it from my own private balcony.
But I can only hide out here so long.
And I’m not just talking about the scary guys who have German all concerned and hovering. At least in this moment, I’m hiding from a lot more than that.
Namely—the pesky and unwelcome loneliness that’s been chasing me since I woke up alone. Without Ben.
Itshould not be a thing. But one day and night spent with his warm body near mine is apparently all it took to break me.Ugh.
I startle as a huge pelican lands on the railing nearby, settling in like this is exactly where he belongs.
“Dude! Where did you come from?” I demand, as though I expect the bird to answer me.
He tilts his head like he actuallywantsto answer. Or, at least, like he understands the question. Land is still nowhere in sight, so where is this guy sleeping? Or … roosting—is that the right term?
I vaguely remember seeing another pelican my first morning here. Could it be the same one? Are there a lot of pelicans this far out at sea? I study him, as though I’d ever be able to tell him apart from any other. His feathers are the weathered brown-gray of some of Oakley’s oldest clapboard homes. Around one leg, he’s sporting a pink tag. I lean closer, trying to see if there’s any kind of identifying information, but the pelican skitters away, wings half-raised like he’s ready to take off.
“Sorry, dude. The balcony’s all yours.”
Trying to avoid scaring him—though I’m not sure why I care about his feelings—I inch back inside, carefully closing the balcony door. The last thing I need is a bird inside my stateroom. When Lo first started renovating Gran’s house, she found a pelican roosting inside the screened-in porch. I’d love to not make that particular adventure a repeated family experience.
